


Phoenix

by DividedWord



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Angst, Beginnings, Character Death, F/F, Family, Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-07-29 00:55:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7663984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DividedWord/pseuds/DividedWord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Combustion requires fuel and oxygen to occur, resulting in the creation of carbon dioxide and water - poisonous gas and a key component to life. </p>
<p>Asami Sato's life has been forged in fire, as brilliant as it is dangerous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Daddy was working late again. At least that what Asami's mother said as she tucked Asami into bed. 

"But Mom," Asami fussed, small hands groping at her mother's loose curls, "I'm not tired. And I want to see Daddy."

Her mother smiled, "He'll be home soon. Now try to go to sleep. Yuna will be here in a moment with the bed warmer."

There was a soft knock at the door. "Mrs. Sato?"

"Come in, Yuna."

Yuna was a stout woman whose stern features inspired a deep-seated fear of disobedience within Asami when her parents were away – her father at the office and her mother in her studio. Asami was sure if the woman ever smiled her face would crack into pieces. Yuna entered the room, bed heater in hand. She opened the ornate cover and placed her hand on the rocks inside. Within a few seconds the heater was radiating with warmth and placed at the foot of the bed to fight the creep of the Republic City winter.

"What do you say?" Asami's mother prompted.

Asami pulled the covers to her chin, "Thank you, Ms. Yuna."

The woman nodded once at Asami and turned to her mother. "If there's nothing else Mrs. Sato," she crossed the room back to the door, "I'll finish in the gallery."

"Yes. Thank you." Asami's mother rose from the edge of the mattress and moved to follow Yuna out. She stopped at the door frame and looked back to her daughter, "Sleep well, my Angel," she said as she flipped off the lights and gently closed the door. 

Asami squirmed beneath the covers. She wasn't tired. She wasn’t. Besides, she wanted to be awake when Daddy got home. She focused as hard as she could on staying awake. She imagined the tall, colorful buildings with impossible angles she would build and shiny cars Daddy would make. She would tell him all about it when she got home. Better yet, she would go to his office and draw it out for him! 

Asami slid out from under the covers and threw her arms through her heavy robe to ward off the chilly air. She would have to be quiet to make sure Yuna didn't catch her sneaking out after bedtime. She padded to the door and slowly turned the knob. The hinges groaned as she pulled the door open. Asami froze. Her ears strained to detect movement. Nothing. After a few moments, she cracked the door just enough to slip her small body through. 

Asami had heard the fairytales about the princesses in castles and the monsters and villains that would come and do bad things. The princess always had to be saved by someone else – a brave warrior, a prince, a huntsman. The stories always made the bad guys out to be evil because of their greed and cunning and the hero good because of their loyalty and bravery. One day, she asked her father if she was supposed to be like the princesses in these stories. She did live in a big house, after all.

"No, Angel," he had said. "You can’t wait for the good to come to you. You have to make it for yourself."

She didn't understand. 

Daddy continued, "You have to be brave, like the heroes. You have to be cunning, like the villains. You just have to be smart for the right causes and brave enough to work towards them. That is what separates the villains from the heroes. But you have to take the good from both. That's the only way to better yourself. To make the princess the real hero."

Imitating the villains from her stories, she clung to the walls and crept slowly through the halls towards the office. But she was also being brave, doing something nice even when she could get in trouble. So she was being a hero. Daddy would be so happy to see what she had created that day.

She finally reached the door and stepped inside. She hurried over to his desk and flipped on the lamp. She reached inside of the bottom drawer where her father kept a little sketch pad for her to work at while he finished paperwork. She grabbed a pencil and began to draw. She drew shining buildings and rainbows that swept between the mountain peaks outside of the city. 

After a while, she rested her pencil behind her ear and leaned back in her father's chair. It creaked as she shifted and smelled of stained leather and cologne. Her fingers found the silk hem of her robe and her eyes caught the green and red embroidery on the left side of her chest. A dragonfly hummingbird – the Sato family crest. Her father had chosen it because it could fly in any direction and overcome any obstacle in its way. Those words didn't mean much to Asami, but she thought it was pretty.

She heard the front door open and close. Daddy was home! She gathered up her sketchbook and held it close to her chest. There was a heavy thud from downstairs. Daddy must have put down something heavy. She stood from the chair and moved to the center of the room, vibrating with excitement. She could hear the shuffling footsteps of someone trying to be quiet moving up the stairs and down the hall away from the office. Well, that wouldn’t do. She’d have to go him, then.

Asami carefully opened her sketch pad to the page with her new ideas and placed it on the desk before bounding to the door. Wait. She still had to be careful until she was with Daddy or Yuna would be upset. She popped her head out of the door and stared down the dark hallway. She couldn’t see anyone there. Daddy must be headed towards Mom’s studio.

Asami clung to shadows, giddy with the thrill of avoiding being spotted by Yuna, as she crept by the banister above the gallery. Strange that she couldn’t hear her moving around down there. Not to be deterred, however, Asami continued on towards another junction in the hallway. 

Her mother screamed. There was a crash from down the hall. Asami froze. 

“Shit, Lee! Why’d you do that?”

“I – I wasn’t. Nobody was supposed to be home!”

Asami’s heart raced. She needed to run. She need to get help. Ms. Yuna would know what to do. But she was frozen, immobilized by fear. 

There was rustling from the studio. “Oh no,” one of the voices wept, “D-Did – Did I…” 

A clang. Metal on metal. “Pull it together, Lee. We need to fill this bag and get out of here,” the deeper, older, voice said. Something was burning.

Asami was shaken out of her stupor, adrenaline flooding her veins. She crept towards the cracked door of the studio and peered inside to find a man in a bright red overcoat and fedora clearing the contents of the mantle into his bag. Another man – boy – rocked on his knees, hovering over her mother, his hands clasped over his mouth. 

Her mother. She was on her back on the floor, right in front of her easel. She wasn’t moving.

“I-I killed her. She’s dead.” The boy was shaking. “I-I-I didn’t mean to – I didn’t know she was –”

The crack of skin connecting with skin ricocheted off of the walls and the boy fell to the side, his hand reaching towards his flaring cheek. “Get. It. Together,” the older one growled through clenched teeth. “Get up and help me.” 

Asami gasped and stumbled backwards, tripping over the hem of her robe. The older man’s head snapped towards the door and locked eyes with her. He stared at her for a second before straightening back to his full height. 

“Lee,” he said, his voice soft and calm, “pick up the bag.” He looked over his shoulder at his companion, “It’s best we be on our way now.” The man prowled towards the door – towards her – in large steps, his hand ablaze.

Asami whimpered. The monsters from her stories were real. Something in her head finally clicked. 

Run. 

Asami scrambled to her feet and ran towards the stairs. Get help. Get Yuna.

She flew down the hall towards the stairs to the gallery. She let out a cry half way down the stairs as she found Yuna face down on the polished white marble, red splattered around her like the rose petals from Mom’s paintings. Asami turned on her heel and sprinted back to the office. She barreled through the door and slammed it shut behind her, fingers struggling to force the lock into place. The bolt shifted and she shuffled backwards and further into the room. Further away from the strange men in her house. Further away from where her mother had been lying on the floor. She was breathing so fast.

The bang of wood splintering rattled the walls. She couldn’t get any oxygen into her lungs.

“Where’d you go, little girl?” The older man called out. 

Another door cracked down the hall. She wiped a hand at her face. When had her cheeks gotten wet? Another crash, closer still. Asami backpedaled into the desk, knocking her sketch pad to the floor. Asami cringed at the sound. 

“Lee! I found her.”

“Hey, you were right. We need to get out of here,” the boy sobbed. “Just – Just leave her alone.” 

“She’s seen too much.” 

“But –”

“I’m not going to jail over a few candlesticks.”

There was a pause before the door handle jostled around, catching on the lock. “Come on and open the door, little girl,” the older man said. “My friend and I aren’t going to hurt you.”

Asami held her breath. Blood rushed past her ears. Her heart was fighting its way out of her chest.

“The hard way it is, then.” A wave of flame shot the door off of its hinges and into the center of the room. Asami screamed and sank to floor against her father’s desk. The older man stepped closer to her still, face blank and eyes glowing. She grabbed at the sketch pad and held it against her to shield herself from what her instincts told her was coming. She was going to die. She clenched her eyes shut.

Suddenly her side was burning. She screamed and doubled over, her hands grasping at the fresh wound on her ribs. 

“Kyodai” the boy said, “We need to go. Now.” 

“Yeah. She won’t be saying anything to anyone.” The men grabbed the bag and escaped into the hall and down the stairs.

It was suddenly very quiet. There was nothing but sobbing and her shaky breathing. Asami lifted a hand away from the wound, her hand painted the same color as that man’s coat, the same color as Mom’s roses. Beside her, lie the ashes of her sketch pad. 

She had no idea how long she laid there, curled at the bottom of her father’s desk. The passage of time had no more meaning. All that existed was this consuming pain and the monsters. Her mind was no longer filled with colorful rainbows and sleek buildings.

Only ashes.


	2. Chapter 2

It has been a year since those strange men came to her house.

Asami blearily remembered when her father had found her crying in his office. He had been screaming her mother’s name, then her name before he had come bursting through what was left of the door frame and fallen onto his knees beside her. He was holding her, asking a lot of questions, speaking loudly, shaking. At some point he’d grabbed for the phone on his desk and called the police.

Daddy must have carried her outside because the next thing Asami remembers is she’s laying on the dew-dampened grass and there are flashing lights and she’s again aware of the searing pain in her side as a man in a blue uniform hovers over her with glowing hands. Asami felt the breath catch in her throat. Glowing hands are bad – they hurt her, and Mom and Yuna. It takes a heartbeat before her brain caught up and realized that he’s a water bender, his hands glowing with healing water.

A policeman appeared at her side. “Can you tell me what those men looked like, Sweetie?” She told him about the red coat that the older one was wearing. “Agni Kais,” he said to himself as he scribbled on his little pad. The man was wearing a coat the color of Mom’s roses. Mom.

“Where’s Mom?”

The officer hesitated.

That did it. Asami cried again, but this time not for the burning in her side, but for the knife in her heart. Her mother was gone. No one had to tell her – she just knew.

Everything hurt and nothing did all at once.

It was all so clear – she’d seen her mother laying on the floor. The stench of burnt flesh still clung to her nose. If that boy did to her mother what the man in the red coat had done to the door of Daddy’s office…

But nothing made sense. How had this happened? Fire wasn’t supposed to do that. Fire was good. It provided heat and light. Ms. Yuna was a firebender. And the probenders always made bending look so graceful and soft, even as they hurtled their elements at each other. The control and finesse of their movements had made her wish she was a bender too. She had loved watching fire bending in particular. Fire made for wonderful showcases during festivals and parades. It was a form of art all its own, her mother had said. And Asami was half Fire Nation by blood, so it was a part of her familial identity. Fire is the element of power. And power is beautiful – at least that’s what the Satomobile ads said. But now she knew better: fire is even more deadly than it is beautiful.

And she has the scar to prove it. She has been living with the hole in her life where she used to have a mother. Returning to how life had been before the monsters invaded was not possible, no matter how much or how hard she wished it would be so. Asami no longer drew the buildings of the future. That dream had burned with her sketchbook and her mother. Now, she drew tangible things, things that she had seen. She’d draw the birds she saw on the stoop of her window and the Future Industries logo. She’d draw her house and Daddy and his cars. She’d draw her mother.

Sometimes, Asami would sneak into her mother’s studio. Daddy had told her not to go in there anymore after what happened. But she was mesmerized. She could still smell the vanilla that her mother would mix in with her paint to mask the fumes. She could still see her sitting there at the easel, the one forever holding that canvas with its half-finished landscape. The textures remained incomplete and unbalanced. Almost ironic that her mother, as much of a perfectionist as Daddy, will never finish it. Strange that the painting would never be displayed at the conservatory in the city, like so many of her other ones. Strange to think that she no longer had her mother.

But she still has Daddy. He is a constant. And she would be going back to school soon, so she had that too.

Asami had always been a good student. She always paid attention to lectures and never got in trouble. She raised her hand when she knew the answers, which was nearly all the time. This didn’t make her exceedingly popular among the competitive student body. So when she didn’t raise her hand to answer questions, her classmates noticed.

They were having a history lecture about Fire Lord Zuko. He had been one of Avatar Aang’s greatest allies, but only after they had been adversaries. The new Avatar was about her age, and she was being trained a long way away from Republic City. That made anything on the topic of the Avatar very interesting to the class, something that their teacher, Ms. Hong, was immensely grateful for.

“What happened to Zuko’s face?” a boy, Yao, asked.

“His father did that to him. Prince Zuko spoke out against Fire Lord Ozai in a war meeting. That was considered very disrespectful. As punishment, Fire Lord Ozai challenged him to a duel, and Zuko lost. His father left him with the scar and banished him until he found and captured Aang,” Ms. Hong explained.

Asami’s throat grew tight. She knew how badly it hurt to be burned. She could envision it, Zuko, kneeling on the ground before his father, watching powerlessly as the flame came hurtling towards him, frozen in place by fear, waiting for the blow to land. She’d been like Zuko, once.

Ms. Hong turned to the chalkboard. “Can anyone tell me what that kind of duel was called?”

Nearly the entire class raised their hands, eager to answer.

“Agni Kai!” a boy blurted. Asami’s heart was beating too fast.

“Very good,” she wrote the word on the board. “Fire Lord Zuko made those duels illegal shortly after –” The bell rang, signaling the end of the day. Asami flinched. “Alright, I’ll see you all tomorrow. Don’t forget to read chapter four.”

The students shoved papers and books into bags and rushed out of the room. But Asami remained frozen in her seat, eyes wide, staring at the word on the board.

“Asami?”

Her eyes snapped to Ms. Hong, the spell broken. “Yes, ma’am?”

“Are you alright?”

Asami stared at her for a second before placing her books into her bag and standing. “Yes, ma’am.”

Ms. Hong frowned but didn’t say anything as Asami hurried from the classroom and into the busy hallway. The door closed behind her and she let out a breath that she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She hated how scared she got sometimes. The counselor had said that this was an instinctual fight or flight response to when dangerous things happen.

“Look everyone! It’s the girl who’s scared of history,” Yao sneered at her from across the hall.

Asami cringed but kept walking towards the exit. Be brave, be brave, be brave…

“Too scared to look at me, coward?”

She kept her eyes glued to the floor in front of her. She couldn’t seem to get enough oxygen into her lungs. She needed some space to calm down before she went to Daddy’s office downtown.

“Hey! I’m talking to you.” A pair of hands found her shoulders and threw her forward, the cold tile scraping at her knees and sending her books flying from her bag. The world became still as her brain caught up with what had just happened. He pushed her. Yao _pushed_ her. A strange heat built in her chest. Asami stood and dusted off her skirt, gingerly avoiding her scuffed palms. She slowly turned around to face him.

Yao, for his part, looked shocked at what he had done. He remained standing where he was, eyes wide, gaping at her. Her eyes narrowed as she locked onto his amber gaze and took a step toward him. Yao stepped back, maintaining their distance. “Hey, I didn’t mean to…” His eyes noticed her balled fists and prowling steps. But it was too late. Asami was tired of this. She was sick of curling up on the ground every time something happened. Yao continued to back pedal but Asami was closing the distance fast, her brain on autopilot. “I’m sorry…” Yao raised his hands defensively in front of him.

Asami lunged for the collar of his school blazer and yanked him to meet one of her fists with his face. Yao yelped and dropped to the floor. She hadn’t expected to enjoy the slap of bone connecting with bone, nor had she expected the reverberating pain in her hand after she hit him. The probenders made it look effortless. She grimaced as she shook out her hand. There was certain amount of pleasure in the silence of the crowd that had gathered around. She felt powerful. Asami looked down to where Yao was slumped against the wall, cradling his cheek and she considered hitting him again. Maybe then he would understand fear, real fear, like she had. She wasn’t a coward.

“What is going on out here!”

Oh, no. Ms. Hong.

“Asami. Yao. What is the meaning of this?” She tightly grasped Asami’s elbow and pulled Yao off the floor with the other hand as she led them to the Headmaster’s office.

Daddy enrolled her in self-defense classes the next day.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all! Thanks for making it this far. So, I'm thinking of making this a multi-pronged piece of little vignettes that cover the span of Asami's life, maybe? Let me know what you think! All comments/kudos/whatever would be greatly appreciated!


End file.
